


Every New Beginning

by cherryvanilla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Sex, Driving, Episode Tag, Episode: s07e03 The Girl Next Door, Growing Up, Guilt, M/M, Making Out, Pre-Series, SPN J2 Secret Santa, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21621970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: Now they’ve left Lincoln -- and presumably, the girl in question --and the aftermath feels like yet another thing causing distance between them, with Dean unable to bridge the gap.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 107
Collections: 2019 Supernatural & CWRPF Holiday Exchange





	Every New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soy_em](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soy_em/gifts).



> Takes place after the flashback scenes in s7ep3. Title and lyrics from Semisonic. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this, soy_em! Happy holidays!
> 
> Thanks to Rena for beta and suggestions <33

_comes from some other  
beginning’s end_

Fall 1998

They put Lincoln in their rearview about five hours ago and Sam has barely said two words since. Dean imagines it has to do with leaving yet another school. Sam’s gotten more sullen since he turned fifteen. Dean observes him sometimes:

in bookstores, when Dean’s half-heartedly scoping out the occult section, looking for something he can show Sammy that’ll make his eyes light up like the dork he is, only to find Sam looking at SAT prep books. 

_“Bit early to be thinking about that, huh, brainiac?” he said once, complete with a knock to Sam’s shoulder._

_Sam didn’t call him a jerk, didn’t shove back. Just shrugged, and quietly put the book back on the shelf._

at diners, taking in a pack of teenagers whose biggest worry in the world is who is taking whom to the Homecoming dance or which screening of Blade they should go to on Friday night. 

_“Wanna go see that Urban Legend flick this weekend, Sammy?” Dean had asked a few weeks back._

_Sam looked up through his bangs, stared, then looked back down at whatever he was reading. “Nah. Not too much fun anymore when you know it’s all true.”_

in hotel rooms, with his headphones on -- listening to the latest Pearl Jam CD that Dean begrudgingly bought him for his birthday -- and his Trig homework on his lap as Dad cleans his gun and goes over the details of a hunt with Dean. He never looks up at the two of them.

Sam is starting to slip away; Dean can feel it in his bones. Everything is changing, and Dean can’t quite catch up. He glances over at Sam now, watching his profile as he stares out the window. Dad takes the truck more often than not, ever since giving Dean the Impala last year. 

Dean bites his lip, thinking about that phone call. 

_How do you talk to girls? Sam had asked, throwing Dean for a loop. He knows his brother, better than he has ever or will ever know anyone. Knows Sam doesn’t just ask things abstractly. He also knew Sam had expected Dean to react in pure Dean Winchester fashion, if only respond in kind with exasperation._

_So he’d swallowed hard, said, “Why Sammy, you sly dog” and received a huff, an audible eye roll, and a “ **Dean** , come on,” exactly on queue. _

_Dean had felt something break inside him at that moment. He’d leaned back on the hotel wall, glad that Dad was at the bar, and replied sincerely. “Just be yourself, Sammy.”_

Now they’ve left Lincoln -- and presumably, the girl in question --and the aftermath feels like yet another thing causing distance between them, with Dean unable to bridge the gap. 

Hell, Sam hasn’t even complained over Dean’s playing Use Your Illusion II on repeat for the last few hours. There’s only so much he can take. 

“So. You talk to her?” 

Sam doesn’t look away from the window. “Who?” 

His voice is flat, and Dean rolls his eyes. No way in hell was he this much of a pain in the ass at fifteen, hormones be damned. 

“The girl.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah. You could say that.” 

Sammy doesn’t sound pissy, though. He sounds -- heartbroken. Lost. Dean tenses, protectiveness taking hold. 

“Hey. You alright there, Sammy?” 

Sam nods vaguely. 

“I was thinking,” Sam starts, before pausing. Dean finds himself holding his breath for reasons unknown. “I was thinking maybe you could teach me how to drive -- might be useful when you two are off on a hunt, in case there’s uh, an emergency. Plus I can get my permit in six months anyway. It’s not unreasonable to practice.”

Dean’s heart feels like it’s being squeezed. Sam’s talking to him like he talks to Dad. Like he needs to sell Dean on something, just the right way.

_When you think about it, Sir, it doesn’t make sense to leave right now. I mean, we’ll just need to start with all new paperwork, and there’s only two more months left in the school year._

_“Just one more chapter? I’ll put in an extra hour of training tomorrow?”_

He doesn’t want Sam bargaining with him. He doesn’t want Sam to think he ever _has_ to. Dean thought it was pretty fucking obvious that he’d do anything for his brother, burn the goddamn world down, but maybe it isn’t. Maybe no one else has caught on that Dean loves his baby brother just a tad _too_ much. It should make him sigh in relief, but it only cuts deeper. 

He opens his mouth to respond, but Sam beats him to it. “And I know, I know, this car is your baby. But I promise I’ll be careful, Dean? If you show me?” 

_Oh_. Dean lets out a stuttering breath. “Well, yeah, you hurt her and I’ll make you pay the rest of your born days.” 

It feels good to give the standard, dry response that Sam’s expecting. Feels good to get back on even ground, without thinking they’ve reached some weird impasse in their relationship simply because Sam is often left behind, and is starting to think about girls, and college, while Dean’s -- Dean’s just… being a good soldier. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Alright, Sammy. Tomorrow, yeah? Dad mentioned meeting up with Pastor Jim. I won’t tell if you won’t tell.” He winks at Sam and gets a blinding grin back in return, Sam’s eyes clearing of whatever teenage angst that’d been haunting them. 

Yeah, Dean’s really glad it isn’t readily apparent just how much he loves his brother.  
____________________________

Sammy looks better the next day, and more so once Dad is on the road. He nearly sprints toward the Impala, Dean trailing behind. He really should say something -- this tension between Sam and Dad is not cool and is only going to get worse. But Sam’s got an extra bounce in his step and Dean isn’t feeling like darkening the mood. 

Dean takes a moment to watch Sam from behind. His brother is shooting up and filling out, no longer the beanpole he’s been since losing his baby fat a few years ago. His hair is stupidly floppy and Dean tries not to think about dragging his fingers through it.

It feels weird, letting Sam in the driver’s side. “Alright, little brother,” Dean says once they’re seated. “No pumping the breaks. No grinding the gears. And no flooring it.” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “I barely know what any of that means. Just -- tell me what to do?” 

He sounds young, fragile, and Dean’s filled with a sense of possession that shakes him to his core. Sam came to him for this, Sam wants _his_ help. Hell, Dean would give him the goddamn moon, if he asked. 

“Alright,” Dean replies, mouth dry. “Start ‘er up and gently put your foot on the brake. Okay, now put her in reverse and ease your foot off the brake.” 

Sam does so. Dean isn’t thinking about how much he likes giving Sam direction like this. 

“Put your foot on the gas just a little, and watch the rearview. Turn the wheel toward your left and do a 180.” 

Sam does a perfect reverse turn so that they’re facing the other side of the lot. Dean had parked her in the empty lot of a yet-to-be-constructed strip mall, which happens to be right across from their 1-star motel. 

Sam looks at Dean, grinning. Dean’s helpless in the face of it. 

“Now put her in drive, Samuel.” 

“It’s Sam,” he replies, face scrunched up. 

“Sure thing, Sammy.” Dean ruffles his hair and yep, as soft as he expected. He wonders if that girl in Lincoln ran her hands through it. Wonders if they made out in the motel Sam was staying at, all alone while Dean was off with Dad, thinking of his brother nonstop. 

“Dean? Hey, Dean!” 

“Huh?” He looks at Sam, then down at his hands on the wheel. 

“I’m uh, at the end of the lot.” 

Well, shit. So they were. 

Sam is clearly a natural at this, doesn’t really need Dean at all. 

“Dean? You okay, man?” 

He blinks and pats Sam’s thigh. “Fine, Sammy. Wanna take her out on the road?” 

Sam bites his lip. Dean drags his gaze away. 

“Dean? That girl…” Sam starts. “She…” He stops abruptly, staring down at his hands that are at 10 and 2 on the wheel. 

Dean silently hopes he doesn’t continue, then immediately feels shitty. 

“Uh.” He shakes his head, and when he starts talking again it seems like he’s decided something. “We kissed. It wasn’t… I dunno.” 

“Wasn’t what?” His voice feels like sandpaper; he hopes Sam doesn’t notice. 

Sam’s eyes meet his, blinking through his lashes. Good Christ. 

“Think I probably need more practice,” Sam finally says, self-deprecation dripping in every syllable, a wry half-smile gracing his lips. His eyes are serious, though, as he continues looking at Dean. Intent. Focused. When Sammy puts his mind to something… 

“That really why you wanted me to show you how to drive? Wanna take chicks out in my car, Sammy?” 

Sam doesn’t look away. “Would you be jealous if I said yes?” 

And there’s the Sam he loves. Brash, stubborn. A firecracker that lights up and implodes Dean’s world all at once. 

Dean holds his gaze, all the air sucked out of the car. He should back away from this, whatever this is. He can’t drag Sam down to his level of depravity. Yet he finds himself saying, “Do you want me to be?” the words barely a whisper. 

Sam pulls his lower lip between his teeth; it’s a direct mainline to Dean’s dick. He nods, hesitantly, some of the bravado lost. Sammy isn’t stupid. He knows there’s no going back from this. Sometimes it’s weird to think they’re both still teenagers. Dean feels a million years older, like he skipped childhood completely and went straight into raising Sam. 

He absolutely knows better. Yet when Sam chokes out, “Dean…” and inches closer on the bench seat, Dean can see the distance between them closing, and not just physically. And maybe it makes him weak to get drawn into it like a guiding light. 

He gets a fistful of Sam’s hair, listens to Sam’s whimper as they slide toward one another. Sam’s the one that does it, he’s the one that has to. Braver than Dean, stronger. Sam knows what he wants and goes for it. One day that gumption will probably break Dean’s heart. But for now, Dean can fall into this impossible thing.

Sam kisses sloppy, uncoordinated. Dean has a flash of anger when he realizes he wasn’t the first, that he missed it by a mere few days. Then he hates himself once more at the thought. 

He stops thinking and drags his fingers through Sam’s hair, over the side of his face, down to the curve of his jaw. Sam moans softly as Dean takes control of the kiss, steadying them both and licking his way inside his -- _Jesus Christ_ \-- his brother’s mouth. 

Sam tastes like Tic-Tacs and the coffee he sneaks each morning when Dad isn’t looking. His eyes are closed, his brow furrowed in concentration. He’s so adorable it makes Dean’s _teeth_ hurt. 

Sam’s licking back tentatively at whatever he can access: Dean’s lips, the corner of his mouth. Dean centers them again, kisses him deeper. When Sam shifts on the seat to swing his leg over Dean’s thigh, he can no longer hold back a groan. 

“Dean,” Sam whispers, breaking away to bury his face in Dean’s neck. 

“Hang on, Sammy.’ His voice is wrecked already. He blinks hard, vision clearing as he fumbles for the lever on his left to lower the seat back. 

Sam laughs against his neck as they drop backward. “Oh, god, is that your go-to move?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would,” Sam quietly admits, and then he’s sucking an open-mouthed kiss into Dean’s neck. 

Shit, they’re doing this. They’re really doing this, in an empty parking lot at 11 o’clock in the morning next to a Motel 6. 

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and blindly finds Sam’s mouth again. This time there’s zero coordination, only frantic desperation. Dean hasn’t made out like this in forever. He lets Sam set the pace of their hips, their hard-ons brushing with every drag and Sam’s quiet “oh my god,” like the most reverent of prayers. 

Sam sucks on Dean’s tongue while Dean’s hands travel down his back, taking in the knobs of Sam’s spine, the perfect dip at the base, before palming over his ass. 

“Dean. Oh, god, please.” 

Sam’s mouth glides over his jaw and Dean’s breathing stutters. He slides two fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans, fingers brushing over Sam’s boxer briefs. He wants to ask so many questions: how long Sam’s thought about this, what Sam wants, why now. In the end, he’s too terrified to hear the answers. 

He teases along the soft fabric while Sam starts moving against him, his dick riding alongside Dean’s, hot and hard and intoxicating. Dean probably picked out this underwear. Bargain bin shit at K-Mart during one of his local store runs, along with milk and cereal and Sam’s favorite candy. 

Sam gasps as Dean’s finger brushes along his bare skin. Thinks about going lower, thinks about whether Sam would ever want that as bad as Dean does, as much as Dean _shouldn’t_. 

“Yeah, Sammy. C’mon, that’s it.” 

Sam moves faster and Dean can do nothing but hold on for the ride. When they kiss again it’s a collision course. Sam moans brokenly into Dean’s mouth, grinding down with jerky thrusts. 

Dean pulls on his brother’s hair, tugs his head back so he can press hard, wet kisses to the fevered skin of his throat. “C’mon, baby. Come for me.” 

He _feels_ Sam shiver against him,his body going tense and taut. Sam’s hips jerk once, twice against his own. He lets out these little “ah, ah,” breathy gasps that will haunt Dean on his deathbed. Then Sam collapses forward, Dean’s mouth still on his neck. Dean’s own moans remain trapped in his throat until the moment he comes, groaning out his release into his jeans just the sound of Sam’s own orgasm. 

Sam is trembling in his arms, and Dean gathers him close. He breathes in the heady scent of sex around them, stares at the ceiling of the Impala beyond Sam’s head. 

There’s no escaping this. No turning back. Dean could pretend it meant nothing. He could pretend they were just blowing off steam and watch Sam retreat further into himself, watch him walk away more and more each day. Or he can admit he wants this -- more than he’s ever wanted anything -- more than he wants to find the thing that killed mom. And enjoy it while it lasts. 

“S’it always like that?” Sam mumbles into Dean’s hair, voice soft and content. Happy. 

“No,” Dean admits. “Not always.” He strokes Sam’s hair. There’s so much to say, but he doesn’t want to. 

“Good,” Sam replies, a hint of possessiveness in his voice. 

Dean shivers and keeps carding his fingers through Sam’s hair, now damp with sweat. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “Like your driving, it’ll get better with practice.” 

He feels Sam’s smile form against his neck and pulls him in even tighter. 

Soon, they’ll clean up. Dad will come back and they’ll go out to a diner. Dean will order a burger with the works, Sam will order grilled cheese. They’ll steal one another’s fries while Dad searches the obituaries for any odd occurrences. Maybe this time, they’ll catch each other’s eye, a secret look passing between them. Maybe Sam will knock his foot against Dean’s calf under the table, and Dean will try his best not to flush. 

Maybe they can bridge the gap of growing up with this newfound, forbidden thing between them.  
Maybe it’s worth the guilt that’s already festering inside him. 

After all, him and Sam against the world? Dean will take those odds. 

The End.


End file.
